In sickness and health till death do us part
by Baldwin's Lady
Summary: In 12C high society, marriages were mostly arranged. What if King Baldwin IV had been married to a woman who had been promised to him since birth? How would they deal with his sickness? How would she cope with the twisted politics and with the
1. Prologue

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: The movie 'Kingdom of Heaven' belongs to William Monahan and Ridley Scott, but the people in this story, save the ones I made up, were real people. I hope they smile when looking down on us, well, the nice ones, anyway, and forgive us for putting them into our stories.

Author's note: This story, though based on real historical events, will most likely be flawed in some way or other, as I'm not yet as familiar with that part of history as I would like. Plus, it is somewhat AU. As mentioned in the summary, it shows what could have been if King Baudouin IV had been married to a woman who had been promised to him since birth. Please review and tell me what you think.

And many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca who know much more about history than I do and who are being extremly helpful!

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Prologue

The woman was small and seemed weighed down by the heavy fabrics in dark green and red which, along with golden embroidery and silver trimming, made up her dress. A thick black veil covered her hair and obscured much of her face.

Her eyes, mournful and dark, looked a little inflamed, the skin around them reddish, as if she had cried recently.

One of her hands, unadorned with either rings or henna paintings, clasped a simple silver cross that hung on a chain around her neck. The other one held a quill, which was poised over an empty sheet of parchment. She seemed to consider what to write, before finally beginning, her hand steadily writing word after word without so much as a tremble.

_"This is the tale of Joana, Queen and wife of King Baudouin, fourth of that name. _

_How could a woman be married, in every sense of the word, to a man she knew to be stricken with leprosy? _

_The answer is rather simple and yet difficult. _

_I had been promised to Baudouin since the moment I was born. No one ever doubted that it was my destiny to be Queen of Jerusalem. However, when my father heard of Prince Baudouin's sickness, he had a decision to make. King Amaury offered him to break the engagement, but my mother did not care so much for my safety as for our alliance with the royal family. As she put it, a man with such an affliction would have little need for a woman in his bed, and as long as I was the wife on his arm in public, I would be able to remain both healthy and chaste. Even more, if some handsome and loyal knight were to strike my fancy, I might yet procure the heir Baudouin needed. _

_I was an only child, my father therefore decided to keep me at home. He was an old man with a young wife and a weak heart, however. That proved to be his death before he could inform King Amaury of his acceptance of his gracious offer. My mother married me off to Baudouin a few months later. I had just turned nine. _

_For three years, I never even met my husband without someone else being present, until I was twelve, and he was thirteen. His father died, and he became King. It was a difficult time for everyone at court. _

_That was when we became friends, great friends. To this day, I am the only one around whom he doesn't always wear that mask. _

_And three years later, I had fallen desperately in love with him. Somehow I always thought that love was unrequited, that he only thought of me with brotherly affection, until one day when I looked into his eyes. Eyes, so blue and beautiful, and filled with love and longing. And I could not help it. I kissed him."_

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Blue eyes stared into her dark ones, waiting for some sign. Her hand hovered over the chessboard and her brow furrowed in concentration.

A small smile played around his lips. He knew her, knew how to read her. And really, her move was exactly how he had predicted. With a triumphant smile, she moved her bishop, taking his knight with her, unknowing that she had just gone into a trap.

It became clear, though, when he effectively captured her queen and called, "Checkmate!"

Joana pouted, but she couldn't remain angry at the sight of the happy sixteen-year-old, laughing in joy at having won once more.

His eyes met hers again and she felt a wave of affection wash over her, too strong to ignore. So she rose from her chair, leaned over the chessboard and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was brief, but to Joana, it might as well have been forever. Then she sat back down again.

Baudouin's smile had frozen. He stared at her in a mixture of disbelief and horror. And then he rose so forcefully that he knocked over the chair he had been sitting in. Joana opened her mouth to say something, but he had already turned from her and hastened out of the room.

She was left sitting in front of the chessboard, her lips still tingling from the kiss and a strange new feeling in her chest.

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_"Baudouin, of course, was shocked to the core. He even turned from me and ran. It took half a month of continuously touching him when his guard was down until I had convinced him to take this chance. He was furious with me at first, for he felt guilty and frightened whenever we shared a kiss and he reckoned that I was acting irresponsibly. He was probably right, but I had no choice. My heart would have burst with love if I had not kissed him that day. I remember the breakdown I had, which finally made him give in."  
_

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Joana wiped the tears from her eyes, furious with herself for this embarrassing display of childishness. It weighed heavily on her heart, this new situation with Baudouin. He was more careful around her than he had ever been. Gone were the carefree hours, playing chess or the times he sat in his chair and listened to her singing and playing the lute, something she had never done for anyone but him and her father.

Now, he was always so cool and distant. It had only been two weeks since the kiss that had changed all, but those two weeks had seemed longer to her than the entire six years of marriage before.

Tears blurred her vision, making the hallway with its marble pillars and floral decorations seem like nothing but a dizzying array of colours.

She lifted the edge of her veil to cover her mouth, in order to smother the sobs. Suddenly, a hand was placed on her shoulder and she jolted.

"What is the matter, my sweet?" Baudouin asked gently, his voice and the tender touch of his hand enough to make her shudder.

"You know very well what is the matter with me," she answered him, turning around. She sounded more defiant than she had intended, but Baudouin only sighed, a sad look in his eyes.

"I know. But you must realise why… that… is not possible. I want to love you, my dear, I do! But… I cannot. I am simply… unable to!"

He turned away suddenly, embarrassed. It took Joana a moment to understand what he was implying, then she felt her cheeks blush. Still, she put her hand on his shoulder.

"I don't care, my lord. As long as you will hold me in your arms and kiss me now and again, I will be content. I would never ask of you what you cannot or will not give. I only ask that you permit me to love you!"

She had not finished that sentence before Baudouin had turned around once more and pulled her close, her head coming to rest over his heart. She wept, and by the shudder of his body, so very close to hers, she could tell that he, too, was weeping.

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_"And then, finally, he let me love him. And to this day, while everyone around me is regarding my face curiously, to see if I show signs of the condition, I know my choice was the right one. I am still healthy; and even if I contract the disease, so be it. I may die for love a little less heroic than some of the heroines our troubadours sing of, but when I look upon my beloved Baudouin, I almost wish I would finally feel the grasp of the sickness in my body. This way, we would be reunited in heaven after God calls my love to Him, without having to wait quite so long. Now that I know how sweet it is to be with him, I don't think I could stand being without him again." _

Queen Joana put down the quill and looked down upon the parchment. It had been comforting to write it down, but she knew she would never give it to anyone to read . Who would be interested in the whining of a young woman, queen or not?

So she picked up the parchment in one hand, carried it over to a candle and set it on fire. She put it down in a silver bowl and watched as it curled in the flames, blackened and then disintegrated.

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Author's note: Well, should I continue? I'm not writing a Mary-Sue fic, that I can guarantee you. My focus might be mainly Queen Joana, but that's because she is the one telling the story, and she is far from perfect. The true hero of this story is, of course, the great King Baudouin IV. Who else could it be.


	2. After you shall be endless night…

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca who know much more about history than I do and who are being extremly helpful!

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After you shall be endless night…

Sleep had fled her once more. Queen Joana began the new day with dry eyes, a beginning headache and a dull pain in her chest.

The king's condition was growing worse by the hour and there was nothing the physicians could do, so Baron Balian of Ibelin, a good friend to Baudouin, had told her two days before.

Balian, a man of sturdy built and rough-hewn features, who was married to King Amaury's widow Maria Comnena, Baudouin's stepmother, had often been like a father to both her and her husband. After delivering that message, however, he had to tend to a small wound on his forehead, as Lady Joana had hurled a silver vase at him, in a fit of the desperate rage grief often causes. He had long since forgiven her, but as she passed him on the way to King Baudouin's chambers, he could not help but worry for her.

The Queen had lost weight in the past few months and her cheeks had become hollow.

The laughter, that had always seemed to accompany the young woman, had died down and she looked much older than her three-and-twenty years.

When she entered Baudouin's bedchamber, she found the servants walking around on their toes: the King was sleeping.

Careful not to make a sound herself, she walked past the chessboard, the divan and a desk cluttered with parchment towards the curtained bed.

Count Raymond de Tripoli sat on a chair next to the bed, his head in his hand and his eyelids drooping. He jerked awake, though, as Joanna approached.

The curtains of Baudouin's bed had been pulled back and she could see him, or rather, the mask. His deformed, clawed hands, wrapped heavily in bandages, rested on his stomach, the blanket had been pulled up to his shoulders. His hair, which was the colour of ripe wheat with just a hint of copper, lay spread out over the pillow. It had grown quite long and Joanna normally enjoyed brushing it for him.

Now, however she was more concerned with the silver mask. He normally did not wear it while sleeping, and by the way he wheezed with every breath, she could tell that he was not comfortable.

Hardly responding to Count Raymond's respectful greeting, she reached over to undo the strap which held the mask. Before she could reach it, though, one of his hands shot up and latched onto hers with surprising force.

His unseeing eyes opened and he looked around a little, waiting to hear a sound which would tell him whose hand he was holding.

"My lord, it's Joanna," she said and tried to pry his fingers off of her wrist. He was no longer able to sense touch, so he had no idea that by now his grasp was one of bruising strength.

"My lady," he rasped, as his voice had become hoarse in the past couple of years, "I do not think we are alone!"

She had finally succeeded in undoing his hold on her and now held his contorted hand loosely in hers.

A frown creased her forehead, as she observed the other occupants of the room.

"No, sire, but there is only the Count of Tripoli here, and your most trusted servants. None other."

"Still." He turned his head away. "I think I prefer it this way. I was not going to sleep away the whole day."

Joana bit her bottom lip. Without another word, she sat down at his bedside and began stroking his hair, as the only part of his body still sensible to touch was his scalp.

A tightening pain was in her chest.

Too quietly for anyone to hear she whispered, "What is to become of us? Of me? After you shall be endless night…"

Her fingers continued to caress his hair.

He sighed contentedly, murmured, "my love," and soon fell asleep again.

Joanna closed her eyes, hot tears leaking from under her eyelids. She knew why he acted like that: he did not want her to see him weak or cause her worry.

Raymond seemed to agree with her. Heaving a great sigh, he said, "He is the bravest man I've ever known. Whatever will we do without him!"

Joanna rose, gently laid Baudouin's hand down again and motioned for Raymond to follow her, so they could talk without fear of awakening him.

"What we should do…?" she replied, "I doubt I shall do anything. He is… my life. There is nothing after him!"

Raymond noticed the despair in her voice and stopped walking. His tall frame was blocking a ray of sunlight from a window and the play of light and shadow made his greying hair look darker and the scar on the right side of his face, along with the wrinkles his over forty years of life had caused fade into shadow.

He looked younger, yet as he heard the despair in the Queen's voice, which seemed to be mirrored by many, he felt older than ever.

Baudouin's death could well spell the doom of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, especially if its leaders lost all hope.

So, although he was aware that he was acting out of order, he grasped the Queen's shoulder to emphasise his point.

"My Lady Joanna," he implored, "you must not talk like this. The people know you and trust you. Right now, they need your help, your support. You are their Queen!"

Joanna pushed him away, her eyes burning with desperate rage.

"I never asked to be Queen!" she yelled, her voice breaking. "Never once did I claim that I was as strong of character as Baudouin! I can't be the crutch this kingdom leans on after him, I can't hold it. I am nothing but a ghost in his shadow, that's all I ever wanted to be. It was my only happiness, Raymond, to be close to him, to be the one he rested with after a hard day or the one he listened to when merry stories were told, ones that did not deal with politics and intrigue. I am a simple woman, who lives for the one she loves. Look elsewhere for the strong queen you need."

She pulled the black veil in front of her face. Along with her grey silk robes, it made her look like a shadow as she walked back to her rooms.

Raymond stood there, stunned. The servant had to call his name twice before he turned around.

"My Lord of Tripoli! His highness King Baudouin requests your presence."

The Count nodded once before hasting back to his liege lord's bedside.

"Your highness," he greeted and knelt. Baudouin, having guessed the gesture, waved one of his bandaged hands and his cousin rose.

"That was… my wife crying, out there, wasn't it?" he asked slowly, his sightless gaze turned upward.

"She is… concerned," Raymond responded awkwardly.

The King made a strange sound that he recognized after a moment as laughter.

"Concerned. I know her better than that. She does not simply lose control, good cousin."

He sighed.

"'tis what pains me most, to know that she will be alone after I pass."

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Joanna had returned to her chambers and sent all her servants away.

Silence surrounded her like a comforting blanket and she took a deep breath.

She would return to Baudouin's bedside, as soon as she had calmed down somewhat.

As she passed her silver mirror on the way to her small writing desk, however, she gave a start and stopped to examine herself.

Joanna had never been beautiful. Her nose was small and round, her lips rather thin. Her jet-black hair was thick, but very straight and she could not do anything with it but wear it down, as it was too heavy otherwise and would give her headaches.

She had been a sickly child and so her father had pampered her as much as possible, therefore she used to be a little too round.

Now, however, she looked like she was the one on her deathbed. Her skin was pale with an almost blue-ish hue around her eyelids. The circles under her eyes were almost black and the grief of the past year had left its traces on her forehead and around her mouth.

Her lips trembled again, but she fought back the tears. It had helped to write down her thoughts and feelings, so perhaps she should do so again.

Swiftly, she gathered up her quill, ink and parchment and sat down to write.

Again, her quill hovered, unsure where to begin. The topic was easily found, there was only one thing, one person, who consumed her every thought. Baudouin.

She had been worried for him before, many a-time.

That, she could write about. In November 1177, for instance, when he had gone to aid the besieged city of Ascalon…

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Author's note: Review! The next chapter will deal with how Joanna dealt with her husband fighting at Montgisard. For those of you how don't know what I'm talking about: Worry not, it shall be explained further!


	3. Not Man and Wife, but King and Queen

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our boy. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

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Not Man and Wife, but King and Queen

Joana took a sip of wine before setting her quill down upon the parchment. Her headache was receding and the sound of the scratching quill was soothing to her nerves.

She blinked rapidly, as her eyes were still sore from crying.

At a moment like this, she was almost thankful Baudouin could not see any longer, for she wanted to spare him the knowledge that his condition was so heavy for her to bear.

As he had once told her, his one fear was, apart from the worries for his kingdom, that she should not be happy because of him. She had kissed him and assured him that she would never be unhappy on his account. That had turned out to be untrue only a few months later…

_It was the month of November, in the year of our Lord 1177. I do not know much of the politics of our kingdom, as Baudouin always said it was nothing he liked to burden me with. I had agreed wholeheartedly, as I knew I could not be of any help in that department. I am no woman of state, like Lady Agnes, my husband's mother, or my own mother Terese, so I contended myself with being a companion for him, someone he could be with without having to feign a strength he did not possess, someone he could simply rest with. _

_I did notice however, that the Saracen forces were amassing, for the whole city spoke of little else, I would have been blind not to see. _

_Last we heard they had lain siege to several cities and the King prepared to go to Ascalon. _

_It was only a few months after we had carefully started to admit our love for each other. He was still sixteen and I fifteen, yet he was already so very much the King, and I little more than a child that had been raised with both songs telling of the glory of battle and veterans describing its utter cruelty and horror. _

_Naturally, I thought that, being unwell, he would command the forces from here, through messages, or at least from a safe point behind the lines of fighting. _

_I was quickly proven wrong. _

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Balian d'Ibelin was admitted to the King's chambers after only a moment of waiting.

Baudouin was already dressed in chain mail and tunic. He was standing in a ray of sunlight, which fell in through the window and it was making his hair look like spun gold.

Then he turned towards his visitor and Balian sighed. The disease was already at work in the young man's face, and only Balian knew of the device he would soon take out of its hiding place. He had shown it to him once before: a mask with neutral features, made out of silver and yet light enough to carry in front of the face all day. The only places it would not cover were around his eyes. Baudouin dreaded it, Balian knew, as he loved the feel of the sun on his face. But, as he had once remarked, only half-jesting, he would not feel it much longer anyway, so why not wear it?

Still, today the boy was smiling at him.

"My Lord," Balian greeted him and bowed low.

"Greetings, Baron," Baudouin replied and gestured for the older man to rise. He went back to the parchment he had been perusing.

Balian straightened and observed the young monarch for a moment, before remarking, "If I may say so, my liege, you seem to be in good spirits, considering we are likely on the brink of battle."

"'tis true! Love, they say, makes the spirit rise, good friend, does it not?"

The Baron of Ibelin gave an affirmative nod.

"The Lady Joana seems to be much better, as well. If I may be so bold: You appear to be good for each other."

The King's smile faltered a little. He trusted Balian like a son trusts his father, so he confessed, "I hope she is happy. I know I can't give her everything a normal husband could. She might want children, but I…"

"Your love is a sacred thing, because it is chaste," Balian offered. "I am sure the Queen would agree."

"So she told me." Baudouin sighed, the he resumed that air of authority.

"Baron, if there is nothing else? I am certain you have things to prepare, as do I. Proceed!"

The nobleman bowed and left.

On the way out the door, he passed Queen Joana. She greeted him with kind words and a smile, but he also sensed trepidation in her voice.

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_I knew something was going on, something I was not supposed to be exposed to. I had noticed Baudouin's silence during the time we spent together in the days leading up to this one, something which was uncommon for him. He has a dry sense of humour and enjoys it very much when someone leads a vivid discussion with him._

_Whenever I inquired as to what was bothering him, however, I received an evasive answer or none at all. This day, I would not leave without answers. _

_After Balian had left, Baudouin and I were the only ones left the room. _

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As soon as they were alone, Joana wrapped her arms around her beloved, who returned the embrace tenderly. He was already losing his sense of touch, but he never failed to appreciate his wife's affection. This day, however, she felt the ridges of the chain mail under his tunic and took a step back. Her gaze roamed over his armour, the belt and the protruding sword hilt and over to the helmet on the table.

"You really think there will be fighting, my lord?"

Baudouin nodded sombrely.

"We are coming to the defence of the city, so yes, probably."

His clumsy, unfeeling fingers pushed away her veil and undid her hair.

"You are so beautiful…", he murmured, but she was not to be appeased.

"But, sire," she protested, "surely you will not join in the fray, if indeed there would be battle?"

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_His pleading blue eyes told me all I needed to know. My tears, my pleading, even my childish outbursts of anger could not dissuade him. He held me, calmed me and spoke to me in a soothing voice, but he did not yield. He was king, on the throne, as well as on horseback, that I had to understand. For the first time, I was angry at him and I could sense that he, too, was losing his patience. I know now that it was not simply a matter of pride for him; back then, however, I accused him of acting so foolishly out of a need to prove himself. He was not amused._

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"Joana!" The girl flinched. For the first time in six years, someone had spoken her name harshly and, coming from Baudouin, it again brought tears to her eyes. He frowned at her, his anger dissipating quickly, but when he spoke again, it still sounded like a reprimand.

"I am the King of Jerusalem, and you are its Queen. I know you worry for me, love, I am glad you do. But where matters of state are concerned, we are not husband and wife, we are king and queen which means we cannot think of ourselves. I will not let my men ride into battle and possible death while I stay safe at home simply because my wife is afraid I might get hurt."

His stern gaze softened at the sight of her hugging herself, her hair a mess and her eyes swimming in tears.

"I will be careful!"

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_He left soon after, with a last, reassuring embrace. I spent the days in agony, knowing anything could happen to them on their way and in Ascalon itself. News soon came that it had been surrounded by the Saracens, my husband and his knights trapped inside._

_After that, rumours spread like a plaque: the Saracens had won, a victory of my beloved, peace, war, the utter destruction of Ascalon, its relief… no-one knew._

_Lady Maria, Baron Balian's wife and Eschive de Tripoli, the Lady Tiberias, kept me company for most of the time, but they were unable to ease my trepidation._

_The worst was still to come, however, in the presence of my mother._

_She arrived one afternoon, her face set in an expression of worry and regret and rushed into my chambers, exclaiming that she could not let her beloved child go through such a period of grief and mourning alone._

_When I asked what she meant by that, she told me that, last she heard, the knights had been defeated and my husband killed._

_I stared at her for a moment, then, suddenly, I felt a burst of blinding pain in my heart and darkness surrounded me. How was I to know what was really going on…_

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Ascalon was surrounded.

At night, Baudouin and his knights watched from the battlements of the city as surrounding settlements burned. Every day, the hope of the people dwindled and many a knight could be seen with shaking hands and cold sweat on his brow.

King Baudouin was the only one who seemed to be calm in the face of danger.

Finally, he decided something had to be done, and quickly. He gathered his advisors in a quiet chamber away from the bustle of the besieged city.

He pointed to a place on a map that lay spread out before them.

"Salah-ad-Din is here," he began, his sonorous voice firm, "at the Tell Gezer, southeast of Ramlah. If we manage to break out of Ascalon and get around Salah-ad-Din's forces without him noticing, we can ambush them!"

He looked up to see his advisors' faces. One of them was the ruddy-faced Reynaud de Châtillon, a heavy set man with grey streaks in his reddish hair and a determined grin at the thought of battle.

"As you command your highness!" he said and bowed. The others, trusting his judgement, agreed as well. And so it happened.

Salah-ad-Din was indeed taken by surprise. He and his men only had little time to mount their horses and ride off before the charging knights were upon them.

The battle occurred in the valley of the Wadi ed-Duhr.

The knights fought fiercely against the Saracen warriors, who clearly outnumbered them.

Baudouin himself was in the thick of the battle, none fighting more bravely.

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_I regained consciousness after what seemed like ages of only darkness. The first thing I sensed were awkward fingers caressing my hair and my cheek. My eyes opened to the most wonderful sight I could have imagined._

_Baudouin was sitting at my bed, certainly alive and in one piece, his blue eyes filled with worry._

_I cried out in joy and he smiled at me, his posture relaxing. But I also sensed that he was tired and weary from battle. So I made an effort to regain my strength as quickly as possible, for the last thing I wanted was to give him another reason to worry._

_Soon our life was more or less like it had always been, but I had also noticed for the first time that he might love me, but I was not the perfect wife for him, weak and easily shaken as I am._

The Queen regarded the parchment thoughtfully, unsure whether to burn it or not. Finally, she decided to put it away in the same chest were she kept her lute, as no-one but her ever touched it.

Satisfied that it would not be seen by unfit eyes, she left her chambers once more. The sound of the servants passing and the voices of the knights that had gathered in the small courtyard, waiting for Count Raymond, seemed almost deafeningly loud at first.

Her brocade slippers made no sound as she hurried along the stone corridor.

Before she could enter Baudouin's room, the door opened and his physician came out. He bowed to her and left, and Joana did not waste time with calling him back to ask how the King was doing. It would have been pointless, anyway, as she already knew.

She entered the room, and suddenly, the quiet figure upon the bed reminded her of what he would soon look like in his grave.

She groaned and cringed as suddenly another sharp stab of pain rose in her chest…

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Author's note: Review! I know there hasn't been much interaction between them yet, but remember, in her memories, they are only just beginning to admit their love and in her present, he is on the brink of death. They'll have their little husband-and-wife moments and so on. More to come...


	4. Everyone wears Masks

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

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Everyone wears Masks

Joana groaned and cringed as suddenly another sharp stab of pain rose in her chest. She swayed a little and reached out blindly. A hand grasped hers and another clasped her elbow and steadied her.

The Queen was led over to a divan and sank down upon it. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was the face of Sybille, her husband's sister.

She had a worried look in her eyes and her hand clasped Joana's so tightly that she felt every single one of the many rings Sybille wore. She gently extracted herself from that grip and smiled weakly.

"Are you alright, sister?" Sybille asked, her soft voice filled with genuine concern. Joana was surprised at that. The two women had never gotten along too well before.

"I didn't even know you were in Jerusalem," Joana remarked and got to her feet shakily.

Sybille cast a meaningful glance at the curtained bed.

A servant just stepped back from the bed after having readjusted the pillows.

Joana took a step closer and once again put her hand on Baudouin's hair, the other one felt his forehead beneath the mask. She frowned.

The fever had risen again.

Baudouin, having noticed her hand in his hair, and knowing that she was the only one to do that, stirred slightly.

"How are you feeling, love?" his hoarse voice rose from behind the mask.

"I am just fine, sire," Joana lied.

Baudouin heard in her voice that she was not being truthful, but he let it go.

"Your sister is here, my liege. Did you know?"

He dull, unseeing eyes turned toward her once more.

"Yes, I know. She spent an hour at my bedside already; my nephew came to greet me as well."

Her hand stilled in his hair for a moment, but she didn't reply. His nephew had always been a difficult subject for her. She loved little Baudouin dearly, he was a darling child, yet it had always pained her to know that he was the potential heir to the throne, a place her and Baudouin's son should have been in, a child she could not give him.

Baudouin asked if his sister was still there and thus interrupted her musings.

Sybille hurried over to them and sat down next to Joana.

"I'm here, brother," she said, in the kind of voice a mother would use with a sick child.

The King sighed contentedly. "Now I have the two most beautiful women by my side."

Again, Joana shifted uncomfortably, as she knew she looked rather plain next to the lovely Sybille.

They chatted some more about different subjects, then the young man asked calmly, "Sweet sister, I would like to be alone with my wife. Tell the servants to leave as well, will you?"

Sybille looked surprised.

"Of course, brother. Do you need anything else?"

A chuckle could be heard from behind the mask. "Would you divorce Guy and marry Baudouin d'Ibelin?"

Sybille smiled. "Farewell, brother." She left and ordered the servants to follow her.

Joana and Baudouin were left alone.

"Take off my mask, will you?" he asked her, "and come closer."

She did as he had told her and leant back against his pillows. He rested his head on her shoulder and she put her cheek on it.

He could feel her breath in his hair.

"How many times have we been like this?" he asked her gently.

"Often," she replied, "hundreds of times."

"Then what prevents you from again trusting me? Talk to me, Joana. For all we know, this might be our last opportunity."

His words broke the last barrier.

She covered her eyes with her hand and sobbed.

And whilst he was whispering soothing words to her, she prayed to God, asking him not to take him away from her or if he had to, to take her as well.

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Baudouin was sleeping again. The servants had returned and were going about their tasks quietly, frequently casting worried glances at the young queen.

She was sitting at the King's bedside and occasionally reached over to stroke the cheek of the impassive mask.

Joana felt ashamed. She had burdened him with her own petty troubles again, in a time when every hour could be his last and yet, while he was just barely clinging to life, he still had the strength to offer her support.

She turned to a passing servant and asked for parchment and quill, which were quickly brought to her.

Before she had decided what to write this time, her eyes strayed to the mask once more and she wished she could just take it off him again, but she knew he'd disapprove.

Then she resolutely put the quill onto the parchment.

_I have always hated that mask. Not only does it hide the face I love most in this world, no matter how much the disease might distort it, but the silver façade also reminds me of one of the bleakest days in my life. It was the only time I'd ever seen my beloved so furious. _

_He is usually of a very gentle nature, but he is King and since he had always known that he would never father children, Sybille's life and family were always an important matter for him. _

_We had received news that Sybille and Lady Agnes would be coming to the city, and on the day of their arrival, Baudouin had me called to his rooms. _

_I went, unknowing that I would regret ever getting up that day. _

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Queen Joana entered her husband's chambers, her light blue dress flowing around her and a happy smile on her face.

She spotted Baudouin sitting at the chessboard with his back to her, wearing a blue tunic, his bandaged hands in gloves and his golden hair brushed, its soft waves almost reaching his shoulders.

"Good morrow, my lord!" she called. The King got up and turned around and Joana screamed. Underneath the golden curls was not his face, but a blank silver visage, betraying no emotion and casting his eyes into shadow so the looked like black holes.

She stumbled back a little and Baudouin, startled by her reaction, took off the mask.

He limped towards her -his condition was growing worse- and reached for her hand. He smiled apologetically.

"Child, did I frighten you? I'm sorry. But you'll have to get used to the sight, dear." He looked down to the floor for a moment. "Everyone wears masks anyway…," then his smile was back in place, "Are you alright, dear?"

Joana nodded and blinked away the tears that, due to the shock, had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

He patted her cheek and then pulled her over to where he had been sitting.

"My mother and sister have not yet arrived, so we have time to play a game of chess!"

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_We spent the morning playing chess and enjoying each other's company. _

_Baudouin won again, although he was starting to have difficulties moving the pieces. _

_He had put the mask aside and although his face was already becoming unpleasant to look at, he seemed so beautiful to me when he smiled about a well placed move. _

_He also told me that Baudouin d'Ibelin was, according to Balian, on his way to Constantinople to get the Emperor's help in paying his debts in order to win Sybille's heart back, and how much he was looking forward to having an Ibelin as a brother-in-law. _

_I had settled down with a piece of embroidery when disaster struck. _

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A timid servant had just announced the Ladies Sybille and Agnes when the two highborn women swept into the room.

Agnes was a tall woman with light blond hair and cold green eyes. Her slender, willowy figure was clad in dark grey silk and many golden rings sparkled on her fingers; more gold was on her neck and in her hair.

Sybille followed her, almost a younger version of her mother, but where Agnes was cold and regal, Sybille was arrogant and foolish. Her dress of green silk looked splendid on her and Joana felt very small and insignificant next to those two women. Her throat almost closed up as she uttered a greeting.

Baudouin was wearing the mask once more and, though he greeted his mother and sister warmly, did not waste time in asking what their wishes were.

Agnes did not hesitate.

""We would like you to consent to your sister's marriage to Guy de Lusignan."

Baudouin was speechless. Joana could see his eyes narrowing behind the mask as he asked, "What about Balian's brother?"

Sybille tossed her head back, "Oh, who is still thinking about _that_! Guy is wonderful, dear brother, he is handsome, charming…"

"But…" he tried to interrupt but was cut off by his mother.

"My son, it would be best if you would allow this union. Better for you and our family, our… reputation…"

Baudouin had gotten to his feet. He was idly pushing around the chess pieces, but at his mother's last remark, he turned around again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his tone of voice suddenly one of forced calm.

Sybille couldn't look at him. She stared at her hands, which lay folded in her lap. Joana observed the exchange with confusion. She did not understand what her husband was implying and so she was badly startled when he suddenly slammed his fist onto the chessboard and sent the pieces flying. His mask landed on the floor with a clatter and his sister bit her lip as she suddenly found him staring at her, his scarred face visible.

It had been easier talking to an emotionless mask, but this was a very real, very _angry_ young man.

"Sybille, how _could_ you? Are you… are you…?"

He made a feeble gesture, but Sybille understood him.

"Yes, I'm pregnant."

Joana gasped and the Princess shot her an evil look that clearly told her to stay out of the discussion.

Baudouin was furious.

"Why does God torment me with such a sister! Have you no sense of honour? Of dignity? Of _morals_? Am I to marry my sister to a simpleton now because she couldn't resist his charms, like a washerwoman who falls for the first knight she sees?"

"Baudouin," his mother said sharply, "she is your sister! I will not have you degrade one another! Sybille will marry Guy and her delivery will simply be somewhat early for a child conceived in the wedding bed." Her eyes softened. "Do not worry too much, my son. Guy is young. He will learn!"

Baudouin nodded. "Yes, mother. From you they all learn. I am the perfect example, am I not?"

Agnes raised a perfect eyebrow. "Have I yet steered you wrong?"

He sat back down, clearly exhausted. "That remains to be seen. Fine, I cannot prevent it. After all, I would not give my friend, the Lord of Ibelin," he cast an angry look at his sister, "_rotten_ fruit."

Sybille jumped to her feet. "How dare you! Do not condemn me for something you know nothing about!"

Agnes had had enough of the quarrel between her children. She ordered Sybille to wait for her outside and the Princess left in a whirl of silken veils and with an attractive pout on her face.

Baudouin was very silent after this last statement. Agnes tried to make amends for his sister's rude remark, but her sweet words fell on deaf ears.

She left soon thereafter, but not before she had embraced Joana and advised her to take care of her husband.

The young Queen had nodded and whispered a reply, but when they were alone, Baudouin refused all her attempts to engage him in conversation.

Finally, as a last effort, she tried to embrace him, but he pushed her away gently.

"I am not in the mood for your coddling, my lady," he said, his voice friendly, but firm. "If you will excuse me…"

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_He had been hurt worse by that comment than I had understood at that time. I was confused, since he normally wasn't easily shaken by verbal attacks. Over the years, he had developed such a strong character that one could say almost anything to him and he would bear it with a smile. Yet he had read more into Sybille's insult than I had seen in it, and, frankly, more than she had meant by it._

_He thought she was not only referring to carnal love, but also to emotional love, to closeness to another person. And, as I later found out, this had been during a time when his last hopes of ever becoming a father had been crushed by the physicians._

_We never discussed the issue again. Really, for two weeks following that incident, we did not speak at all. I left to visit my mother and my little sister Maria and he did not even say goodbye to me. When I returned, however, everything was back the way it had been before, with the exception that Sybille was now betrothed to Guy. I did not know back then that this would spell trouble for me, my beloved Baudouin and the kingdom before long. He was no longer as open with me as he used to be, still, I remained confident that everything would be fine._

_I turned out to be wrong._

Joana put down the quill and flexed her fingers. She took a sip of wine from a goblet on the table next to her, rolled up the parchment and put it aside.

She then rose from her chair and readjusted her sleeves which she had pushed up to facilitate writing. Baudouin had awoken again. His voice was more tired than before and the wheezing in his breath sounded more pronounced to her ears.

"Will you leave now, love? Or would you stay some more?"

She sat down on the bed next to his frail form. He would have been a tall, strong man, exceptionally handsome and dashing, had he not suffered from the disease. To her, he could not be more precious in any other shape or form.

"I will stay as long as you want me to, my lord," she promised.

And in an almost childlike tone of voice he asked her, "Will you tell me a story?"

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Author's note: Review!


	5. The Beginning of the End

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM, LadyLorca and Zan189 who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

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The Beginning of the End

She had told him stories, held his hand for her own comfort and stroked his hair for his. She had even sung to him a little, although her voice had become weak over the years and trembled when she tried to hit the higher notes.

Then they had fallen asleep together, the rhythm of his wheezing but steady breathing gently lulling her to sleep.

She was awoken a while later by Balian d'Ibelin, who had placed a hand on her shoulder.

"My lady, you should go to bed and get some proper rest. He is fine for the moment and you will be informed the moment his condition changes!"

She looked into his kind and gentle eyes and before she could stop herself, she asked, "Balian, have you ever wished it had been Baudouin's and my child you held in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre while he was being crowned as heir to the throne?"

Balian sighed and pulled her into his arms. Her head rested on his broad shoulder and one of his calloused hands patted her hair awkwardly.

"Of course I wished that, my lady. I also wish King Baudouin could rule another fifty years. But some things are not to be." She nodded weakly against his shoulder.

"Come, my Queen," he offered, "I will walk you to your chambers."

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Sleep did not come to her again. The constant waiting for a change in Baudouin was grating on her nerves, yet she was afraid of anything happening, very afraid, since any change would be for the worse.

Soon, she found herself once more at her desk…

_After a successful campaign against Salah-ad-Din, Baudouin decided to spend Christmas at Tyre. He was in good spirits although Sybille and Guy, to whom she'd been married for three years by then, joined us in Nazareth and then moved with us to Tyre._

_Baudouin slowly warmed up to his brother-in-law and Sybille and I got along better as well, in our similar roles as loyal wives. _

_Raymond de Tripoli came with his wife Lady Eschive, which delighted us both. _

_My husband was planning a new campaign in Spring and discussed this with his cousin. _

_One evening, however, he began to look weakened, his eyes unnaturally bright. _

_He was on his way back to his chambers when he collapsed…. _

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Baudouin and Raymond were walking along the garden path, avidly discussing horses. Apparently, Raymond said something funny in his typical dry humour, for the King laughed heartily, leaning on his cousin with one arm and patting his shoulder with the other.

He was limping and his bandaged hands looked small next to Raymond's calloused fists, but the Count of Tripoli was very gentle with his younger cousin, without giving him the impression of considering him invalid.

Joana and Eschive were walking a short distance behind there husbands. Suddenly, Baudouin stumbled. Raymond caught his arm and steadied him.

Ignoring protocol for a moment, he simply took of his cousin's mask and felt his forehead.

"You have a fever, my lord," he said grimly, but the King brushed away his hand and took back the mask.

"I will be fine," he said dismissively, placing the silver object back on his face.

A few steps further, however, he stumbled again. This time, Raymond could not catch him in time.

He fell, tried to catch himself, but his weakened arms could not hold his weight.

He groaned as Raymond and Joana helped him up.

"I'm… not so well," he admitted.

"I can see that," the Count of Tripoli growled and simply scooped the young man into his arms as if Baudouin weighed hardly anything.

Then he told Eschive to send a servant to look for the physician and followed Joana hurriedly to the King's bedroom.

Passing servants shot them worried and confused glances as Joana opened the door for Raymond.

She then drew back the covers of the King's bed and Raymond put him down gently.

"The physicians will be here shortly, your highness," he said softly.

Baudouin made a weak, dismissive gesture. "charlatans…"

The Queen called Anselm, the King's manservant and ordered quietly, "Bring me a bowl of cold water and a soft cloth."

"Yes, your highness," Anselm replied, bowed and left.

He returned swiftly, set the items she had asked for onto a low table next to the bed and retreated.

Raymond left as well, mentioning that he was going to look for the physicians himself.

Joana lifted the mask off Baudouin's face and caressed his scarred cheek gently.

Lepers could not sweat through the affected parts of their skin, so Joana dipped the cloth into the water and gently wiped his forehead, cheeks and neck.

He sighed.

"Do not burden yourself with my care, love," he protested weakly.

"Shh, I would not leave you, my lord, you know that."

He smiled and another sigh came from his deformed lips.

"I will be fine in a few days, you'll see!"

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_He was not fine, quite the contrary. The fever rose rapidly and the physicians were unable to get it down. _

_Three days after he had first collapsed, Baudouin became delirious. He cried, called for his father, his sister, me. _

_I tried to be strong, I tried. And I managed to keep my composure while I was by his side, but since physician had told me there was nothing they could do and that they were unsure whether he would live or not, I felt recurring surges of panic until the physicians no longer let me see him. _

_Then he woke from delirium and a day after that I was first allowed to see him. It broke my heart. For days I had waited, my knees were sore from praying, my eyes were tired and worry lines now creased my forehead and had left traces around my mouth. _

_But to see him again was worse than I had expected. _

_My maid had prepared me beforehand. _

_I was dressed in a gown of burgundy silk with wide flowing sleeves, my hair had been braided with golden thread, yet nothing could erase the tiredness from my face. _

_Not that it mattered. The fever had taken a most horrible toll. _

_Baudouin had gone partially blind. _

_He could distinguish strong light and shadow, some strong colours, but even that would fade. _

_His hands, now horribly contorted and several fingers on each hand missing, would never wield a sword again, nor, so Raymond guessed darkly, the power of a King. _

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"I wish I had know I would go blind," Baudouin said wistfully. "I would have looked at you better, memorized every line of your dear face."

Joana smiled down at his disfigured features on the cushions, a cheerless smile, yet it was better than tears.

"You said it yourself, my lord," she said bleakly, "we do not choose our path, God does, yet we choose how we walk on it."

"I will not walk much anymore, I'm afraid," he said evenly. "Now, love, be so kind as to put my mask back on my face, for I summoned the Barons. They don't have to see the extent of my illness, I'd rather they remembered me as the King."

The Queen frowned. "What are you saying, my lord? You are not dead, nor are you dying."

"I will make Guy de Lusignan _Bailli._"

She dropped her wine goblet in shock.

"Why… why make Guy regent, of all people? Why not Balian or your cousin Raymond?"

"Because," he replied tiredly, "when I die, and the physicians say I will before the year is over - no, do not cry now - when I die, Sybille will be Queen and Guy will be crowned as her King. Baudouinet, as dear as my nephew is to me, is too young."

A smile passed over his deformed lips.

"Please, Joana, I need your love and your support, if I am to die in peace."

Silent tears gathered in her eyes as she leant forward and kissed his soft, golden hair.

"Yes, my lord," she assured him, "you'll always have my support, and my love anyway!"

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_It happened as he had planned and Guy was made _Bailli_. He was, of course, ecstatic.  
My beloved Baudouin had exhausted himself, though. The fever came back with a fury. _

_For a week, he walked the narrow line between life and death. I prayed for hours every day, my eyes dry, my lips trembling and muttering the prayers over and over again, my mind constantly on my ailing husband. It was thus that Sybille found me…_

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Princess Sybille hurried into the chapel in a swirl of skirts, veils and flying cloth.

"He is awake," she cried, "he is awake and calling for you!"

Joana rose from her knees, stumbled and stood upright again.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice hoarse from praying.

The elated smile faded from Sybille's face. "Alive, and out of danger for the moment!"

She put a painted and heavily bejewelled hand on the Queen's shoulder. "Go to him. I will stay here and pray."

Joana nodded, gathered skirts and walked swiftly out of the chapel.

She crossed a small courtyard and was just about to enter the hallway when a hand caught her arm and spun her around.

She frowned up at Guy de Lusignan. He was a handsome man, tall, broad-shouldered, with soft dark hair and intense green eyes. He wore a condescending smile and bowed a little too late.

"My Queen…," he greeted her smoothly.

"Yes, Guy, how can I help you?" Her voice was polite, yet uninviting.

His eyes hardened.

"I need to demand your support. Your husband knows he is dying and now he has made me _Bailli_. He is clearly expecting me to become King when he dies and I need you to share that opinion in public."

Joana took a step back.

"First of all," she said quietly, "you do not demand my support, you ask for it, and the decision about that will be up to me entirely. Second of all, my only loyalty is to Jerusalem and to my King. He is alive, and if God is merciful, he will live much longer and one day be able to rule again."

Pity had by then replaced the look of cold calculation on the man's face.

"I had not believed it," he said softly, "but now I see Sybille was right. You really love him. Child, as queen, you could have any man you liked. What do you get from a leper?"

Joana raised her chin proudly.

"Love, which is more than a man like you is capable of!" she replied defiantly and left.

Guy's chuckle followed her down the hallway, along with his call, "Our pure Queen knows nothing about love!"

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_I had not foreseen how much I would come to hate Guy in the near future._

_I hated his condescending smile, back in Jerusalem, when he caught a glimpse of me feeding Baudouin or saw me walk beside him in the gardens, supporting him on one side and taking care he did not lose his crutch on the other. _

_I hated seeing him command the men who had once sworn loyalty to my husband. _

_And more than anything, I hated how Baudouin reacted to idleness. It seemed to pain him more than the effects of his illness. I saw him cringe at the sound of swords being drawn from their scabbards, the whinnying of horses or the footfalls of the knights in the courtyard. _

_I kept him company as best I could and he never once complained or spoke harshly to me, but he lived for the daily reports by Raymond, Balian or Anselm, his manservant whom he had known since childhood. _

_At long last, he eased into a slowed-down pace of life.  
Alas, it was through the help of his friends, not me.  
I have, as of yet, never been able to help him. _

A tear fell onto the parchment and smudged the ink. It had been the beginning of the end, this time, that Joana knew for sure.

Guy's time as regent had come to a rather abrupt end, however, during the wedding of Baudouin's little half-sister Isabelle. Joana shuddered at the memory of the first siege of Kerak…

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Author's note: Opinions are appreciated.


	6. The Heart of a King

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

To my reviewers: Thank you, I am glad you like the story. There is only one more chapter left after this one...

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The Heart of a King

Writing had become an addiction for the young Queen. Her trembling hands quieted whenever they held a quill and the painful knot in her chest loosened somewhat.

The parchment offered no hollow sympathy, no condescending remarks, hidden behind courteous phrases she had heard innumerable times… the parchment did not judge her. It only listened as she poured her heart, her aching soul, into the ink and tried, for but a few moments, to escape the harsh reality of looming tragedy.

Still, every so often she would look up at the door, as she expected a servant to burst in any second, bearing dire news…

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_Is idleness a sin? Is it a sin to withhold a skilled leader from aiding his country out of concern for his own well-being?_

_Perhaps it is. Perhaps the situation I now find myself in is God's punishment, for I often stopped visitors and petitioners from being received by the King, redirecting them to the Count of Tripoli or my husband's mother, Lady Agnes, for I feared the day when he would decide to strip Guy de Lusignan of his regency, as I knew he would someday._

_He had already been close when Guy refused to trade the command over Jerusalem, which Baudouin still held, for the city of Tyre, where the climate was milder and more suitable for his condition._

_But I had managed to pacify him once more and so things had quieted down._

_Soon news came in that Salah-ad-Din would be attacking in the near future, but, although Baudouin heard about it as well and warned Guy, no actions were taken._

_A joyous event soon followed these dire news, however, as little Isabelle, Baudouin's eleven year old half-sister, was to be married to young Humphrey de Toron, a handsome, kind, if slightly feminine man of seventeen, whom she absolutely adored._

_Baudouin was happy for her, but neither of us attened, of course, as the marriage was supposed to take place at Kerak, to which the bridegroom was heir._

_Guy went and we did not expect anything out of the ordinary, until a dusty, tired messenger barged into the King's room, with a painful injury on his left arm and bringing bad news indeed: Saracen forces were besieging the castle of Kerak._

_One of Baudouin's first concerns was Isabelle, but the messenger assured us that the tower in which the young couple was housed was the only section of the fortress which was not under attack, a show of gratitude from Salah-ad-Din, since Stephanie, Humphrey's mother, had sent a portion of the wedding feast out to the Saracen leader._

_Baudouin was immediately alert and ready to take action. I escorted the tired man to the physicians myself._

_I had only just gone for a few moments, but when I returned, I found Baudouin sitting up and giving orders, while Anselm dressed him and, apparently, prepared him to leave._

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"… and Guy is **no longer** _bailli_. I will rule again, let that be made public. Now gather my officers, rally the men. We leave as soon as humanly possible."

Queen Joana stood in the doorway and heard her husband's words.

She entered then and cleared her throat so that he'd know she was there.

He cast a quick, unfocused glance at her before ordering, "Anselm, have them prepare a litter."

The servant hurried off and Joana was alone with Baudouin.

"So, you really mean to go, do you?" she asked in forced calm.

"Yes," he replied simply. "I can lead this army better than anyone else."

Joana felt the fabric tear as she twisted her hands into her veil.

"If you go…," her voice was trembling now, "if you go, you will die, do you know that?"

He gave a mirthless chuckle.

"I've known _that_ for a long time, love, and I have dealt with it. What does it matter if I go or not?"

He gave a start at the sudden sound of breaking pottery as Joana, in a sudden outburst of anger, had smashed a vase.

"You'll die SOONER," she yelled, "that's why it matters! You'll be leaving me behind, I don't want you to go!"

"I have to," he replied forcefully, his failing eyes looking just a little past her face.

"But I…" she started again, but he cut her off.

"Enough!"

He did not raise his voice, he did not sound angry, yet his tone was final.

"We have had this discussion before, my lady. In a situation like this we are not…"

"…not man and wife but king and queen, yes, I know. I remember everything you've ever said to me about our 'situation'."

The silence was like a heavy veil and suddenly Joana felt cold.

"Fine," she said, her tone one of defeat, "Go. I will do as I've always done since you became King: I will wait and I will pray for your safe return and for a few weeks of peace before the next disaster strikes."

He shrugged and felt for his crutch. "When has this country ever been at peace?"

"I was not talking about the country, my lord, I meant you and me. But perhaps the question holds true there also. When have we ever had peace? When have I ever been all you needed?"

She did not wait for his answer. They both felt so very helpless in that moment. Baudouin wanted to call her back and say something to ease her pain, yet he knew not what.

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_And so he went, though for the first time, he did not bid me goodbye before going._

_As usual during times of battle, rumours swept the city like a plague. _

_But this time, I refused to listen to them. I spent my time praying until my knees were sore and allowed no company but Bietris, my maidservant._

_Bietris was a shy and gentle girl with a terrible stutter she just could not grow out of. Her halting speech only added to her appeal, though, as it made her look even more frail and innocent._

_In my happier days, I would have liked to see a romance develop between her and Anselm, but as my own heart grew heavier and more lonely, I could not stand to see happy couples anywhere. Although I hated myself for it, it pained me to see even Eschive and Raymond together, although I had known them all my life._

_So, in my self-chosen exile, my life consisted only of the chapel and my own room._

_The fever I suddenly had caught me therefore completely unawares._

_I hardly remember anything but Bietris suddenly looking at me with an expression of concern, then my knees gave way and I only woke several days later._

_The physician let me know that I had been in a delirium for days._

_They had expected me to call out for my mother, but I never did. 'Baudouin' had been the only word to leave me lips._

_For several days, they thought me too weak to even bear the happiest of news, so I lay in my silken sheets, day in, day out, the only view that of my tidy room and a few flowers through the window._

_Before, I had chosen to be cut off from the world. Now that I was, I longed to hear anything from the outside._

_Finally, they let me get up again and take short walks around my room…_

_It should be another two months, though, before they let me see Baudouin. I had hoped in vain that he would find a way to pay me a visit. His health was too frail, he was not allowed to come close to an ill person._

_But when we were alone again, for the first time after he had left, he had put aside the mask and wrapped his arms around me . He could no longer feel anything but my hand in his hair, but he heard my breath next to his ear and a smile curled his distorted lips upward._

_I am not sure what it was he whispered into my hair that day, but I am almost certain that it was "forgive me."_

_I had indeed forgiven him, for these two months without him had taught me that he was too important for the kingdom to be hidden away in the shadow of his wife._

_Our own wishes lost importance next to the needs of the country, and simply because he knew how to act as King whereas I did not, this did not mean that he loved me any less than I loved him._

_This newfound attitude and confidence made my life much happier for the next few months._

_My beloved's condition grew worse, but there was no outward influence, and he bore it all with courage and faith in God, so how could I do any less?_

_Still, the relative peace was not to endure. In the autumn after the marriage at Kerak, Salah-ad-Din again prepared to besiege that selfsame fortress._

_There was no need for me to ask why Baudouin summoned me to his chambers the day after the news had come in._

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The King took a deep, shuddering breath and enjoyed the soft scent of lavender emanating from his wife's hair.

"So, my love, you see… it has come as I had predicted…" He waited for her to reply, but only silence answered him. "Joana, you know I have to go!"

There was a rustle of fabric as she rose from the divan.

"Of course I know," her soft, dark voice answered him. "And I will not even try to keep you this time."

He could hear the sad smile in her voice, as it was mirrored on his face.

"Don't worry, love," he replied, "I think this will be the second to last time we say goodbye to each other."

There was no need for her to ask what he meant.

The army left hours later, the King's litter in the front lines as they rode out to meet the Saracens.

There was no long fight. Salah-ad-Din retreated soon after the army from the Holy City had joined in the battle and it was not long before Joana saw Baudouin again.

Still, he had changed a lot.

As he lay in the litter, she only saw his closed eyes and it took her a moment of frantic searching in a stroke of panic until she saw his chest rising and falling.

Then she heard his breath, raspy and laboured. The journey had drained him and it seemed like a couple of his ribs were broken, due to the relentless bumps and jolts he had received in the litter.

When they put him to bed, it was clear to all those present, that he would never rise again.

And although Baudouin struggled against that judgement for the first few months, by the time winter had come and the new year was to begin, he, too, had accepted him.

He would die. Soon. And much sooner than he or Joana had ever feared.

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_He announced his will to an assembly of barons early in the new year, naming little Baudouinet, Sybille's son, as his heir and proclaiming Raymond his regent._

_As I watched him prepare for his imminent death, I began to see how dependant I was on him._

_There is no life for me after him. If it weren't a hell worthy sin, I would not hesitate to turn a dagger against myself to follow him in death sooner than nature would have it._

_The only thing staying my hand is the knowledge that I would burn in hell for all eternity without ever having the chance to see him again. It is heaven I must strive to gain entrance to, for there is no doubt in my mind that he will be waiting there for me after his death._

_For the moment, though, I know he is waiting for me in the next room. He has already said his farewells to his trusted friends, as I've heard, and on my way to my room I found Anselm huddled in a corner, his eyes flowing over with tears._

_I will head back to Baudouin's side shortly. His last moments are to be mine alone, so he said._

_It seems so unreal to me. I cannot believe that my love, my life, the man who was the reason behind every time I opened my eyes in the morning, will be gone before the night is over. I cannot believe that in a few hours time, my King, my Baudouin, will be dead._

The tip of the quill went through the parchment and broke. Joana did not even notice.

She rose, donned her veil and turned to leave. On the way out the door, she passed her servant Bietris. The girl's huge blue eyes were swimming in tears, but Joana's eyes were strangely dry.

Her heartbeat was the only sound in her ears, like the beating of a drum, calling her to a war she was destined to lose.

Her footsteps echoed in the deserted hallways.

Once she came nearer to the King's chambers, she saw some more people, although they, too, almost escaped her notice.

Balian d'Ibelin was leaning against a wall, his eyes closed.

Raymond de Tripoli sat on a chair, his head resting on his wife's shoulder and silent tears streaming down his cheeks.

A servant opened the door for her and she entered the room, which now had the atmosphere of a chapel after sunset.

The Queen sat down on the edge of the King's bed and ordered a servant tonelessly, "Draw the curtains!"

The last thing visible was her taking King Baudouin's bandaged, clawed and distorted hand in both of hers.

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Author's note: Opinions are appreciated. The next/last chapter will be the Epilogue.


	7. Epilogue

In sickness or health, till death do us part

Disclaimer: see previous chapter

Again many thanks to DocM and LadyLorca, who are not only helping but also inspiring me, as their stories are very much better than mine!

And, of course, thanks to our hero. If he sees us, I hope he knows how inspiring he is to us.

This story is dedicated to all fans of Baudouin, a true hero whose memory will never die!

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Epilogue

The vast room, with its marble pillars and floor, the burning frankincense, the statues of saints along the windowsill, seemed much like a tomb already, especially since the people leaving it bore expressions of incredible sadness.

The King was clinging on to his last moments in life. He had ordered for his closest friends to visit him one last time.

So it was that Balian, the Baron of Ibelin, crossed the threshold, almost colliding with Anselm, who was hurrying out of the King's chambers, a hand over his mouth, eyes flowing over with tears and barely capable of muttering an apology.

Baudouin's room was quiet and Balian felt like an intruder in a very personal space.

"My Lord of Nablus!"

The King's voice woke him from his reverie and he hurried over to the bed.

The translucent curtains had been pulled back and Baudouin's frail form was visible under the covers.

"I thank you for coming," the dying youth went on, his voice no more than a whisper.

"I'd like to think that it was not only because I commanded it."

Balian hesitated for a moment, then he sat down on the bed's edge.

"My liege, I hope you know, although this perhaps not proper of me to say so, I have always loved you as if you were my own son. No father could have ever been prouder of a child of his blood than I was of you!"

His voice broke, but he was rewarded with a faint chuckle from behind the mask, a sound like the whisper of dry leaves or the rustle of parchment.

"I thank you, Balian. Know that this means very much to me, and although my position as King meant that I could not always agree with you… Do you remember the battles we fought together, friend? Do you remember how I was thrown off my horse?"

Balian nodded, although he knew the King could not see.

"Yes, I recall. I thought my heart would cease beating. I could not see you for a few minutes and then…"

"…then some brave knight carried me off the battlefield on his back. I remember. Strange, I did not feel as close to death then as I do know, perhaps because I was younger. I felt invincible, as though no foe's weapon could ever be a threat…"

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, until Baudouin took a deep, wheezing breath and said, "My friend, I bid you farewell, not only as your King, but as the son I would have liked to be for you. You have my thanks for your loyalty and for some of the happiest moments in my life. If you could send in the Lord of Tripoli now?"

Balian would have liked to answer him, to say some heartfelt words in response, but his voice failed him. He could bring forth nothing but a few choked sobs, but he knew that Baudouin understood him…

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Raymond de Tripoli had promised himself to be strong. He had always had a weak spot for his young cousin, whom God had chosen to suffer so much, yet who had never lost his faith.

When Balian exited the King's room, a desperate sadness on his face, Raymond felt his heart clench.

He drew strength from the fact that Eschive, the wife he loved so much, was waiting for him outside as he approached the bed to say his last farewell.

"My dear cousin… how are you?"

The Lord of Tripoli was taken aback by that question, not having expected it from a youth on his deathbed.

"I am…" he was going to say 'fine', but his throat closed up and out came, "…afraid! There are so many things I want to say to you… but… I'm afraid I will not be find the words and they will be left unsaid for eternity."

He closed his eyes to fight back the tears, when he suddenly felt a clumsy fist gently touching his hand.

It was impossible that Baudouin should see his hand or feel where it was, and yet he was able to reach for Raymond's hand in a gesture of comfort.

"Do not worry, my friend. Whatever you wish to say, I know. Or at least, I will know!"

Baudouin's speech was halting, slow and so quiet that Raymond could not make out every word.

"Do not tire yourself!" he advised. "I want you to know that, as my friend and as King, you were… the best and…"

"I know! I thank you… for your loyalty and friendship… and… continue to serve… my… my nephew…"

Raymond sensed Baudouin's fading strength, so he brushed his fingers over his cousin's hair once and said softly, "I promise! I will never forget you, Baudouin… ever!"

The King made an affirmative sound and Raymond left the room hastily, before the tears spilt out of his eyes.

Outside, he collapsed into a chair and leaned against Eschive's warm and comforting body. She held him while he cried, the middle-aged, battle-scared Count who, in that moment, felt more helpless than ever before.

They all looked up as they saw Joana approach. Her feet were dragging behind her and her face was a mask of grief, disbelief and fear.

She made no gesture toward them, she spoke no word.

As she stepped over the threshold, a shiver went through her body and she swayed for a moment.

Then she approached the bed, sat down on the edge and ordered a servant tonelessly, "Draw the curtains!"

The last thing visible was her taking King Baudouin's bandaged, clawed and distorted hand in both of hers.

Then, as if that act had given her strength, she removed the mask from his face and whispered, "I am here, my love!"

The King's mouth curled upwards. His features were severely distorted, but she knew that he was smiling.

"I know," he replied, "And I promise you, in this moment, we are only man and wife… I am sorry I could never make you a mother, my love!"

She smiled sadly.

"But we had a child, my love! Jerusalem! We both loved it and sought to protect it, though it took me a time to realise, just how much it needed you!"

He sighed. "I could not have been the King I was without you, Joana. For you were always there when I needed you. I know I could not always show it, but you were a source of great strength for me. It was not always fair of me… around you, I did not need to pretend. I could be weak or angry or sad… I did not always have to feign strength. Your love… was the greatest gift I ever received, and for that I thank you!"

This little speech had tired him and his breath came in shorter, shallower gasps. Joana trembled, silent weeping shaking her body.

Finally, it had come from his lips. She had tormented herself over the years with the thought of being nothing but a nuisance to him. Now that she knew the truth, how could she bear to lose him?

"I love you…" was all she could whisper, "I love you!"

The silence outside the King's chambers was weighing on everybody's hearts and minds like a millstone.

When it was finally shattered, they all jerked as if woken from deep slumbers.

They could hear Joana's voice, crying and pleading with Baudouin, telling him not to leave her alone, as if she wanted to talk the spark of life back into his motionless body…

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The King was dead. Although the event had not come as a surprise, a wave of sadness swept the city regardless.

His frail body, dressed for the last time in ornate robes of blue silk with golden embroidery, had been settled in bed, his ravaged features once more covered by the silver mask.

His closest friends and family were allowed to see him one last time, to pay their last respects.

Balian and Raymond were there, talking in hushed voices, both showing outward signs of exhaustion and sadness, Raymond even reaching up occasionally to wipe away a stray tear.

The Princess Sybille had approached the bed and was casting a nervous look around before reaching for the mask on her brother's face. Her fingers tensed and she made to pull it away…

"NO!"

Joana's voice broke the silence in the tomblike room like the crack of a whip.

"He asked you not to look," Baudouin's widow said accusingly, "You should respect his request… and remember him like he used to be!"

Sybille blushed and retreated from the bed, a hand pressed to her lips. Her head hurt and she left the room without turning back once.

Joana took her place, and, after making sure her body covered him from view, removed the mask herself to press a last kiss onto his scarred cheek. Had he still had lips, she would have kissed those as well.

With a shuddering sigh, she replaced the mask on his face and rose.

The heavy black fabrics of her dress weighed her down, the black veil that covered her hair pulled her face downward.

Her pale, bony fingers brushed his frail shoulder in a last loving caress and suddenly, a flash of excruciating pain shot up her left arm and into her chest.

With a cry, she fell forwards onto the bed, her head coming to rest on her husband's shoulder. Darkness claimed her.

The others had gathered around her quickly and Balian himself carried her to her bed, where her friends Maria Comnena and Eschive waited by her bedside for her to wake.

She never did.

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Three days after his death, King Baudouin's wife Joana stopped breathing, without ever having regained consciousness.

Balian d'Ibelin said later, that it was perhaps best for them to be reunited in heaven, so neither of them had to witness Jerusalem's downfall.

Servants claimed that before she died, Queen Joana had opened her eyes, smiled and whispered her husband's name before following him on the path to heaven.

THE END


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